


Untitled

by NishkaGray



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NishkaGray/pseuds/NishkaGray
Summary: Tumblr drabble, transferred here, due to the Great Tumblr Fuckening of 2018





	Untitled

Emperor Snoke’s gladiator is the new darling of the arena.

Kylo Ren has belonged to Emperor Snoke since he was fifteen years old. Among the new Dacian slaves, captured during Rome’s brutal expansion, he is known as the Lost Wolf; the betrayer who no longer speaks his own tongue. Kylo Ren does not remember his father’s face or his mother’s smile. He is haunted by dreams of frantic dances on the burning coals, the sun’s rays chiseled as indentations in the stone, directing the sacrificial blood away from the centre. In the chaos of his mind, he hears Celtic chants directed at the rising sun, and the howls of thousands of Daoi warriors echoing across Danube. The arena is steeped in the blood of his people, the countless Dacian lives cut short at the edge of his sword. Each time he takes off his helmet to kneel to the Emperor, he feels the weight of thousands lives he has taken, the shame of having been broken and remade. Each time he is offered freedom through death, he chooses captivity instead, and the darkness in him grows larger. He does not hear the crowd chanting his name, nor acknowledge the devotion in their bloodthirsty screams. But each time he kneels in the sand, a faithful dog waiting for approval, his eyes stray to the figure at Emperor’s right shoulder. His every victory comes with this small reward. The burning halo of red hair, like a crown forged by the sun. The heavy gaze that sends shivers down his spine. He meets the blue eyes for a moment only, fear of discovery gripping his chest tight, locking the breath in his lungs. In that one greedy moment, laced with terror, he drinks in the sight of a long neck and lithe frame, slender fingers gripping the marble balustrade, lips a smear of color on a pale face. Between one breath and the next, the contact is gone, but the image burns behind his eyelids, chasing the darkness away.

Senator Hux despises the Games. The brutality of the displays, the stench of the arena, the spectators who behave no better than the beasts they’ve come to cheer. He knows it to be an appalling spectacle, contrary to all characteristics of a civilized society. Just the sight of the arena from the balcony of his villa, the semi-circular columns arching in the distance, causes a wave of nausea he cannot suppress. Yet, every game finds him at the edge of his seat, waiting for a single glimpse of raven hair and dark eyes. Kylo Ren is paradoxical, unpredictable. He is the embodiment of the chaos and disorder that Senator Hux loathes. There is something deranged about the fury of his attacks, a blur of erratic movement, unbalanced, but beautiful in its frenzy. Kylo Ren has no defensive strategy. He does not use his shield to protect himself from harm. At the end of each victorious match, a dozen new wounds decorate his flesh, a river of blood left in his wake. Each time he moves to the podium with malignant grace, Senator Hux swears he will not meet the man’s eyes. He will not drink in the sight of that powerful body kneeling at his feet, he will not allow that burning gaze to seer a path from his mouth to his hands. Each time he fails.

In the end, it is clear what he must do. This madness he suffers from, madness he cannot control, will not end until he owns Kylo Ren. Until Kylo Ren belongs only to him, and no one else. And if the Emperor is resistant, then the Emperor must die.


End file.
